


In a Flash

by Veilder



Series: In Medias Res [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Connor & CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60 & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Families of Choice, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Kidnapping, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), RK Bros 4 Life, Warning: Hank's Potty Mouth, Warning: Sixty's Potty Mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 04:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17635838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veilder/pseuds/Veilder
Summary: You'd think by now the criminal underworld of Detroit would have learned not to come between an RK800 and his family.





	In a Flash

**Author's Note:**

> I have spent the last two days in a frenzy trying to get this idea out of my head and onto my laptop, so if anything feels a little bit disjointed or out of place, just blame that, lol. 
> 
> I have developed a deep and abiding love for the walking disaster that is Sixty, aka CyberLife Tower Connor. I blame this in no small part on the New ERA Discord server (Check us out here! [ New ERA Discord ](https://discord.gg/mVFVa6T)), and in particular, [ Redd ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redd000/pseuds/Redd000). You have started the Sixty fever, friend.
> 
> Big thanks again to [ WingedPegasus ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedPegasus/pseuds/WingedPegasus) for all the great feedback, proofreading and just being the best damn encouragement ever. Wouldn't be doing this without you.
> 
> Also, this story is a loose sequel to my previous fic, _In a Name_ , but you don't need to've read that in order to understand this one, they each can stand on their own.

The factory looked like a stereotypical hideout for smugglers and kidnappers. Tucked away in the dregs of the derelict industrial district, the former textile mill came equipped with a high, barbed-wire fence, functioning gate and easy road access, as well as a suspiciously functioning assortment of concealed security cameras. Fresh tire tracks [ **Scanning… Model:** 2038 Crowne Fermata **… Match found! Registered:** Felix Kauffman **… Reported Stolen:** 01/08/2039] had not yet been fully-masked by the light snowfall. Someone had driven through the gate very recently [ **Estimated Time Elapsed:** 23 m 18 s], definitely suspicious behavior for a factory that was listed as abandoned in the city registry. There was even a rather advanced suite of anti-hacking software running through the security system, a sure sign that they were aware of the DPD’s use of androids on the force.

Too bad “rather advanced” wasn’t gonna cut it with an RK800 on the scene. Disabling the alarms took him less than a second, looping the security feed, even less time. Drawing back from the interface, he let his skin reform before stepping back from the terminal. There was not a lot of room to maneuver in the tight space, so he took care as he exited to not jostle the corpse of the criminal on the floor. [ **Name:** Sergei Illyvich, **D.O.B.** 12/01/1995, **Criminal Record:** possession of stolen goods, property damage {reclassification pending… murder of sentient being}, illegal possession of a firearm, falsified documents] He’d rather not get any… _fluids_ on his shoes. He did, however, stop to retrieve the guard’s keys from his belt. Old-fashioned locks could still pose a problem to him if they were strong enough and he’d rather not take any chances. The slowly ticking timer in his head [ **Time Elapsed:** 4 h 17 m 19 s… 20 s… 21 s…] was a constant reminder of the situation and every second counted.  
  
As he stealthily made his way into the fortress (because really, this place was too fortified to be anything else), he set his analysis software to run through the memories of the incident again, verifying the facts and searching for more clues. The recollection of events played out in his head as if he were there.  
  
[ **BEGIN TRANSMISSION**  
  
_He was tracking, tracking, tracking… There, boot prints, size 11, slow gait, target estimated 6’0”, 280 lbs._ ** _Cross-referencing… Complete! Name:_** _Michael Jonahson,_ ** _D.O.B._** _04/22/2004,_ ** _Criminal Record:_** _Grand theft larceny {reclassification pending… kidnapping of a sentient being}, armed robbery, drug trafficking._ ** _WARNING! Target may have accomplices. Proceed with caution!_** _  
__  
__He stood. “Lieutenant, I have found their trail. Jonahson went this way, likely accompanied by two or more of his gang. We should proceed with caution.”_ _  
__  
__“Fuck that, Connor, this is the closest we’ve been able to get! Call in for backup, but we’re not waiting around this time for that motherfucker to get away again!”_ _  
__  
__Calling Detroit Central Dispatcher… Relaying information, requesting backup, relaying intent to proceed unaccompanied…estimated time for backup to arrive… 14 minutes…_ _  
__  
__“Dispatch has been notified.” He walked forward, scanning the surrounding area. His HUD lit up, brightly outlined boot prints trailing out of the alleyway and across the street into another. Without delay, he began his pursuit, the lieutenant following close behind._ _  
__  
__His GPS kept a constant signal as they made their way further through the labyrinthine back-alleys of Detroit, keeping dispatch up to date on their location. He rounded another corner. His optical sensors distinguished three men outlined from behind by the headlights of a 2038 Crowne Fermata. He prepared to scan them when-_ _  
__  
_**_WARNING!! WARNING!! BIOCOMPONENT #2655n DAMAGED!! BIOCOMPONENT #4141b DAMAGED!! BIOCOMPONENT #1339h DAMAGED!! PLEASE CONTACT A CERTIFIED CYBERLIFE TECHNICIAN FOR REPAIRS!!_** ** _  
_****_  
_**_He couldn’t see. His hearing was impaired. He tried to call out but there was only static. He had no warning of the imminent impacts._ _  
__  
_**_BIOCOMPONENT #1995r DAMAGED!! BIOCOMPONENT #7511p DAMAGED!! THIRIUM LEAK DETECTED!! SEEK EMERGENCY REPAIR IMMEDIATELY!!_** ** _  
_****_  
_**_He was immobile. He felt his limbs locking, the self-preservation protocols taking over to preserve Thirium._ ** _  
_****_  
_**_He could hear distorted sounds through the static. With his attenuated senses, it was difficult to parse what was being said. He diverted power from damaged and non-essential sources to boost his audio processor and could just make out, “What the fuck did you do to him, you piece of shit?! Let go!! Let go of me, you cocksucking bastards!! Connor! CONNOR!!!” Then the slamming of a car door._ ** _  
_****_  
_**_He checked the status of their backup. {_ ** _En route…_** _6 minutes...} Too long. He sent one last emergency broadcast to all frequencies._ _  
__  
__And one last wireless upload…_ ** _Sending transmission… Requesting neural link, RK800 #313 248 317-60. Requesting neural link, RK900 #313 248 317-87._** ** _  
_****_  
_****END TRANSMISSION** ] **  
****  
** As expected, there was no clue hidden within the memory that he had not already identified. It seems the transmission had only the unintended effect of raising his software instability higher than it’s already abnormally elevated reading. Or perhaps that was a side-effect of his stress levels sitting somewhere around 56%.  
  
Either way, it was seriously bringing him down.  
  
The memory did, however, remind him to revise a few lines in the code he has written to counteract the… _whatever it was_ that could so easily disable one of the most advanced androids ever created. Error quarantine, peripheral partition, override schemas, he wanted to be ready for any sort of eventuality. He’d been working on this new System Recovery for hours now, keeping his patches up to date as data shifted in his processing cortex. The constant revision happening in the back of his mind was a noticeable drain on his system, but not enough to hinder him. He would just have to be careful not to run too many programs all at once.  
  
Having made his way across the icy pavement, he set his scanners to the building, itself. He canvassed the two nearest sides, making sure to keep low and out of sight as he passed the dirty windows. He noted convenient cover, entrances, and likely sniper positions in the case of the alarm being raised. All useful information. Booting up his preconstruction software, he let it deliberate for a moment on the most efficient way to infiltrate:  
  
_Front entrance?_ Wide open. Little chance of cover. 26% chance of success. [ **Cancel** ]  
_Loading bay door?_ Inefficient. Noisy. 13% chance of success. [ **Cancel** ]  
_Fire escape door?_ High vantage point. Allows for scouting. Could be guarded. 74% chance of success. [ **Pending…** ]  
_Roof access?_ Discreet. Time-intensive. Element of surprise. 91% chance of success. [ **Pending…** ]  
  
His gaze moved to the corner of his HUD. [ **Time Elapsed:** 4 hr 34 min 57 s… 58 s… 59 s…] Every moment could mean life or death for the lieutenant. He couldn’t take the time to be overly cautious.

 ~~ _Front entrance?_ Wide open. Little chance of cover. 26% chance of success. [ **Cancel** ] ~~  
~~_Loading bay door?_ Inefficient. Noisy. 13% chance of success. [ **Cancel** ]~~  
_Fire escape door?_ High vantage point. Allows for scouting. Could be guarded. 74% chance of success. [ **Confirm** ]  
~~_Roof access?_ Discreet. Time-intensive. Element of surprise. 91% chance of success. [ **Cancel** ]~~  
  
Decision made, he wasted no time in revving up his servos, preparing to leap. The fire escape was some fifteen feet off the ground, much too high for him to reach unassisted. However, like many last century brick-built edifices, the old factory boasted a wide, decorative lip of stone jutting outward about nine feet off the ground. In a flash, he calculated his trajectory, determining the force and acceleration needed to heft himself up upon it and from there, on to the rusted metal stairway.  
  
[ **Preconstruction Verified… Execute** ]  
  
In a blur of smooth, mechanical precision, he alighted softly on the slatted metal floor. He reached up, smoothing the fly-away strands of hair back into place with a practiced hand as he ascended the fire escape. The walkway was rusted but still holding strong, only one particularly loud creak making him freeze up and reach for his gun in a combination of instinct and automatic programming. His LED was flashing yellow as he looking upwards through the gaps in the flooring, waiting to see if anyone would emerge from the exit.  
  
A latticework of shadow fell upon his face as he allowed himself thirty seconds to idle. This was a careless mistake. He should have been able to scan this structure for weak struts, he shouldn’t’ve been caught off guard. Perhaps constantly running his Recovery program was taking its toll? Or perhaps his calibrations were off...  
  
[ **Stress Level:** 61%]  
  
He couldn’t help the angry scowl that tightened his face at the readings. A strange error settled deep in his manual accelerometers and he felt his fingers twitch. But his system diagnostic came back clean, only the ever-present error reading of [ **System Instability^** ] which had shadowed him the majority of his short life. There was no way of knowing _why_ such a glitch had occurred until he could find the time for a deep scan with one of Jericho’s diagnostic rigs and that held no bearing on him currently. He had a mission to accomplish and he would not ( _could not)_ fail.  
  
Ascending the final flight, he came upon the upper door, the old layer of green paint adorning it so weathered and faded it looked gray. A heavy padlock was cinched tight against the frame barring entry for those unlucky enough to climb up here without a handy set of stolen keys. With a smirk, he disengaged the lock, taking care to keep the noise to a minimum. He readied his weapon, easing his left hand out to turn the handle-  
  
[ **INCOMING TRANSMISSION! RK900 #313 248 317-87(Nines) would like to connect! Accept? Y/N**  
**\--- >Y** **  
** **\------ >... Connecting...Connecting...Connecting...Verified!**  
  
**BEGIN TRANSMISSION**  
  
**> ** First location secured. No sign of target.  
**> ** Status of second location?  
  
**<** Results inconclusive. Investigation ongoing.  
  
**> ** Target located?  
**  
** **< ** Negative. Evidence suggests target on premises. Traces of stolen vehicle, signs of activity, advanced security.  
  
**>** En route. Rendezvous approximately thirty minutes.  
  
**<** Negative. No eyes on target yet. Proceeding with mission.  
  
**> ** Copy. Re-establish contact when you have eyes on target.  
  
**<** Affirmative.  
  
**>** Proceed with caution. Please. And stay safe.  
  
**< ** ... **  
** **< ** ... **  
** **< ** Affirmative.  
  
**END TRANSMISSION** ]  
  
Thirty minutes. Nines would arrive in thirty minutes. Now that the younger android had ruled out his own lead, it was looking more and more likely that this was the building the lieutenant was being held in. This was good. He felt his resolve, already honed by worry and anger, bolster itself even further with something that felt like hope. With a wide, slightly unsettling grin, he opened the door.  
  
Inside, the derelict building was filled with the cloying scent of dust and decay, though not as much as his contamination filters indicated there should be. (More evidence of human activity. As if he needed any more.) Though sheltered from the biting Detroit wind, the temperature inside the building was still a chilly 35 degrees Fahrenheit and he had no doubt, were he human, he would be able to see his breath mist the air. The door he’d come through had opened out onto a small landing which was connected by a catwalk to an operator’s booth off to the left of him. Another stretched off to the right leading to what looked to be a hallway of offices and the roof access. Risking a glance over the railing, he was immediately rewarded; there on the factory floor, hands and feet secured to a bit of heavy machinery and stripped down to his underclothes, was their missing lieutenant, Hank Anderson. The relief he felt was so overwhelming and unexpected that it almost counteracted the rest of his scan data.  
  
Because Hank’s body temperature was dangerously low and hypothermia had almost definitely started to kick in. There were also several injuries scattered across his body, most notably the contusions decorating his face and abdomen, as well as the hairline fracture snaking its way through one of his ribs. [ **Scanning…** False rib L8] His breathing was shallow, almost certainly to keep the pressure from impacting the bone too much, but the way he was shivering was most definitely not helping in that regard.  
  
Loosely arranged around their hostage were ten men, all of them matching the descriptions of the ruthless gang of android traffickers who all seemed to have taken umbrage with the lieutenant’s pursuit of them. Four stood at attention around the perimeter, weapons held loosely in their grasps. A group of three were seated at a small table on the opposite side of the large room from Hank. They looked to be playing blackjack. One man sat against the wall where a makeshift display of tv monitors had been arranged. He was watching the screens intently, though the looped footage wasn’t going to give him anything. The last two were close to Hank, perhaps guarding him. One was leaning up against the wall, staring at the bound man. The other had climbed atop the old machine the lieutenant was tied to, ankles dangling on either side of Hank’s face. He kicked his legs with a carefree nonchalance, seemingly unaware when those kicks went a little far inward and jostled their prisoner’s head. The cruel smile he wore told the android that his every move was malicious and deliberate.  
  
Well, he had a clear target now. That one would die first.  
  
Opening up a line to Nines, he got so far as relaying a [ **< ** Target sighted-] before-  
  
**_WARNING!! WARNING!! BIOCOMPONENT #2655n DAMAGED!! BIOCOMPONENT #2142k DAMAGED!! INTERNAL THIRIUM LEAKS DETECTED!! SEEK EMERGENCY REPAIRS IMMEDIATELY!!_ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** Error messages assaulted him and his overtaxed system registered the sudden spike in his stress level as an added injury. It would be a matter of seconds until his self preservation protocol activated, locking his limbs. He only just managed to initiate his System Recovery before his vision cut out entirely and his arms and legs froze in place. His sight was gone, though he could still pick up the sound of two sets of footsteps approaching him from behind. From the direction of the operator’s booth. The place he had ignored ( _Idiot!)_ in his relief at finally finding Hank.  
  
One more failure to add to his already impressive collection.The shame of being taken so unawares coiled around his biocomponents as he felt the phantom sensation of humiliation squeeze through his system. Always the disappointment.  
  
[ **> ** \--lease respond! Please! Are you there?!]  
  
Oh. His connection was still open. That’s something, at least.  
  
[ **< ** Sy-5ys4em !n4egrityyyyy@^%yyyyy **FA** _I_ Lur-r-r-re **ABORT-ABORT-ABORT-ABORT-** ]  
  
His entire communications network collapsed and the remainder of the transmission fizzled out in a rain of static. Well, so much for that. (He supposed he would just have to be content with the knowledge that Nines would most assuredly realize something was wrong.)  
  
Even with his System Recovery working at full capacity within him, the damage would take time to reverse. (Though he _could_ feel the program doing as intended, slowly filtering out the error messages that had rendered his HUD useless and restoring his impaired biocomponents. He felt nothing but relief when his self-healing system reignited in a sudden burst and the slow drip of Thirium within him began to ebb.)  
  
With all of his internal timers scrambled, he had not even registered that any time at all had passed. But sure enough, he felt his unresponsive limbs being hoisted up by a set of arms on either side. His feet dragged the floor, the steady drop-offs that impacted them making him realize he was being pulled down the stairs and onto the main floor. His internal stress meter was still covered up by error messages, but he could imagine that this situation might have a negative impact on the numbers. Especially once he recalled that this group of criminals was involved in both the kidnapping of androids and also had suspicious ties to many Red Ice cartels. His synthetic breathing had already been disabled in order to conserve power, but he felt his circulation pump stall out despite that.  
  
“What the fuck is this? Didn’t we already take care of this thing?” The voice came from his left, most likely one of the ones who’d been playing blackjack. He sounded like a complete moron.  
  
Footsteps alerted him of someone approaching. He guessed from the direction and a quick analysis of his gait that it was the man who had been seated at the surveillance table. The android did not let on that he was aware of the man’s approach, making sure to mask any visual clues that might hint at his hearing being intact. The more damaged they assumed he was, the more they might underestimate him. Helpless and ( _useless_ ) nervous he might be, but he was determined to pull himself together, to stop making these ( _stupid, costly,_ disappointing) miscalculations. He had to get Hank out of here. He owed him _at least_ that much.  
  
Foreign fingers caressing his temple were almost enough to supersede his new directive, however, especially once they began circling his flashing red LED. The man’s slim fingers were following the seams of his cranial plating like he could feel them through the synth-skin. This one was knowledgeable about androids, it seems, as his clever fingers pressed down on one of the manual releases, shifting the plating just enough that he felt his skin automatically retracting from his head. He remained silent and still.  
  
“No… This isn’t the same one. Different model number, see here?” The man had a soft, high voice that triggered another unsettling round of anxiety in the android. As did the way the man’s left thumb smoothed over his exposed brow, right over his serial number. Well, he had a _second_ target now. Jackass.  
  
“Must be another one of those special ones, eh? Jesus, how many are there?” That was the one holding his right arm. What a poncy fucking voice.  
  
“I don’t know but it’s awful nice of this one to just show up at our doorstep.” What a charming Southern accent. Wasn’t winning this asshole any points at the moment, though. “Looks like we’ll be turning a profit this quarter, boys!” There was a chorus of laughter that followed the declaration.  
  
His enhanced audio processor was able to pick up on and isolate sounds from up to fifty feet away. For once, he wished he weren’t such an advanced model as he heard a raspy, labored, “C-C-Con…?” With perfect recall and enhanced proximity and propiosensors, he was able to determine the exact location of the restrained Hank Anderson. He could not look over, not even to assure him. He had a part to play. (He knew all about playing a part, after all.)  
  
Luckily, the group were too focused on him to have heard Hank’s whispered question. He wanted to keep their attention as far away from the lieutenant as possible for as long as he could.  
  
“It has Sergei’s keys,” one of them unexpectedly said. The laughter ceased. To his right, the sound of running footsteps echoed their way over to the main entrance and, presumably, out the door. In the span of less than a minute, they returned, along with a shout of, “It fuckin killed him! He’s lyin’ cold out in the booth!”  
  
Well, now was a terrible time for his HUD to reboot. The sudden cessation of those blinking red error messages let him focus more keenly on the twelve sets of eyes honing in on him with laser-like focus. He may not be able to see them, but he could feel their slimy gazes. He was gonna need a shower after this.  
  
“Fucking piece of shit!!” The shout came from his left and the sudden, aggressive stomps signaled him to brace for impact. The movement ceased when the asshole who’d ripped his skin off stepped in the way.  
  
“Leave it. It’s been deactivated. Making more work for me later isn’t going to help anything. Right now, we need to get out of here. You never know if this thing called for backup before it arrived.”  
  
His System Recovery was working hard. He felt his peripherals come back online, his arms and legs now once again at his command. He make a quick status check--  
  
[ **SYSTEM RECOVERY v. 1.0… 36% COMPLETE** **  
** **  
** **MAJOR SYSTEM ERRORS (14)** **  
** **\-- > Ocular Unit Repair (L)...15% complete!** **  
** **\-- > Ocular Unit Repair (R)...13% complete!** **  
** **\-- > Communications Array Reboot…2% complete!** **  
** **\-- > See More? +** **  
** **MINOR SYSTEM ERRORS (52)** **  
** **\-- > Thirium Reserves… 82%** **  
** **\-- > Manual Periphery (L)… Recalibrating…** **  
** **\-- > Inbox Full! Delete read emails?** **  
** **\-- > See More? +** **  
** **ESTIMATED RECOVERY TIME… 3 h 12 m 06 s** ]  
  
\--Well, he certainly saw that his prioritization software was making the best use of his recovery queue… (He made sure to make a note to rewrite some of that code at a later date. Email. _Honestly._ )  
  
For now, he assessed his situation. It was strange, allowing for a preconstruction without any real visual data, but nonetheless, it was effective. As it stood, he had four options:  
  
**>** [Path Unlocked] Take hostage  
**>** [Path Unlocked] Grab gun  
**>** Flee  
**>** Remain still _  
_  
He let his mouth form into a grin, the first action he had taken since he’d been disabled.  
  
Was there ever any doubt?  
  
~~**>** [Path Unlocked] Take hostage ~~  
**> [Path Unlocked] Grab gun  
~~> ~~**~~Flee~~ ** ~~  
**>** ~~**~~Remain still~~  
  
All the while he had been held immobile by these criminals, he had been collating data: enemy locations, height and weight estimates (cross-referenced with the brief overview he’d taken when he first entered), weapon inventory, criminal hierarchy, anything and everything he could evaluate to give him the edge. He let it all coalesce, watching as each preconstruction built itself up along the basic, grid-like map he’d been able to piece together.  
  
In a glorious sea of flashing gold outlines, he sprang into action, letting a hidden throwing knife drop into one hand, the other going for the gun these idiots hadn’t deigned to search him for. The two that had been holding him were the first to go, though he made it his special mission to send his knife flying straight into the forehead of the little shit that had been kicking Hank earlier. And speaking of… A quick kick to the front sent the creepy little bastard that’d been fondling his skull flying, the impact surely breaking at least a few ribs. He heard him roll, collapse and not get back up.  
  
Alright, four down _._ He licked his lips eagerly. (He guessed some of the blood from his first guy must’ve sprayed across his cheek, because as soon as he did, a profile popped up for a [ **Name:** Robert Milano--] which he dismissed before it could complete. Not like that data would be of any help now with his corpse slowly cooling on the floor.)  
  
Without missing a beat, he pivoted on the spot, aiming for the other shitstain that’d been standing next to Hank. It was funny, his attempt at dodging. _Predictive movement features, asshole!_ _  
_  
By now, it seemed that the other bitchbabies had taken cover. He even heard some of them overturning that shitty little table, cards and poker chips spilling across the floor with a clatter.  
  
Oh _fuck_ , a _table_ ! Whatever will he _do_ ?!?!  
  
Well, turn around and get to Hank first is what he will do. Luckily, the bulky assembly belts criss-crossing the factory floor gave the two of them enough cover for the time being now that Dipshit #1 and #2 were _indisposed_ over here. Sinking down to his knees, he felt for the bindings keeping Hank in place. Metal, fuck. Police issue- _Oh, those bastards!!_ They’d locked him up with his own fucking handcuffs! He hoped to _whoever the fuck you hope to_ that they’d stuck those keys on the ring with the rest of them, or he wouldn’t be using a _gun_ to take the others out...  
  
Of course, Hank had noticed him. His words were short and choppy, interspersed with the chattering of his teeth. “F-Fuckin’ hell, k-k-kid. You’re al-l-live.” Well, at least he was still awake and aware. That was good. Hank continued to speak as the android searched desperately through the keyring, trying to determine the correct one through touch alone. “They shot y-y-you. Th-th-they _shot_ you, for chrissakes! My boy…Con…”  
  
He’d finally found the correct one, thank fuck. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take before he lost it. He wasted no time in getting his old man out of the cuffs and even less in shrugging off his coat. It was thin, not really more than a jacket, but it was all he had for the moment. (He’d give him his slacks, too, if he thought it would help. Hank was a little more… _hefty_ than he was, though.)  
  
He heard movement happening across the large room. He hadn’t forgotten that he still had business to take care of.  
  
“Stay here, old man. I’ll be right back,” he said, making his way to stand. A hand on his elbow stopped him and he tilted his head back down. He still couldn’t see, but he heard Hank’s breath hitch in a telling way. Oh, he needed to get out of here. “...He’s fine, don’t worry. Now sit tight, I’ll come back soon. Scout’s honor.” Haha, that was a good one.  
  
He rose to his feet, creeping his way along the framework of the closest machine. He was still honed-in on all the enemy’s movements and two of them seemed to have gotten brave enough to try and sneak up behind him. He stopped on his way to retrieve his favorite knife from that little dickbag’s head before continuing on, letting the acoustics of the high ceilings help his preconstruction form a more accurate map of the area.  
  
He paused, back against the edge of the assembly belt, as the golden outlines crept further on. Oh, this was too easy, really. He’d almost feel bad for them if they weren’t little bitchass losers who’d decided to fuck with _his family_ ! It was the easiest thing in the world for him to step out and- **BANG! BANG!** -nighty-night. Seven down.  
  
Thanks to the layout, as well as the large crates these creeps seemed to be using to ship their stolen androids in, it made his job of sneaking around the factory absolute child’s play, even without his sight. Quiet and quick, he scaled one of the storage containers, peering down at the three dickheads sheltering on the other side. As Hank would say, “like fish in a fuckin’ barrel.”  
  
Ten down. Only two left. Luckily, one more idiot happened to walk right under his current hiding spot. One shot to the back of the head and he was out. Haha, one left now.  
  
Having emptied his gun, he set it aside, readying his knife back in his hand. Only one target left. Now, where was he…? Oh… _shit!_  
  
He ran.  
  
He could see the gold outlines, one leaning unsteadily against the outer wall, the other, poised in front of him, gun drawn, preparing to fire. As he drew closer, the world around him flashed to life, his newly-repaired ocular units rendering a blurry cascade of visual input. He blinked, adjusted his calibrations, blinked again. And there, clear and bright and _horrifying_ , stood the final perp, Jonahson himself, staring down a Hank Anderson who could do nothing but set his face in a scowl and try his best not to fall over.  
  
He was closing the distance, but not fast enough ( _never fast enough_ ) to outrun a bullet.  
  
Jonahson fired… And time slowed to a crawl.  
  
His processors were pushed to the max, every bit of him straining for a solution. He would not fail this time, could _NOT FAIL THIS TIME!!_  
  
He raised his dagger and let fly.  
  
Hank took a step back, the horrible certainty of his death flashing in his eyes.  
  
Jonahson smirked, assured of his victory.  
  
In the space of a breath, their fate was decided.  
  
A metallic - **CLANG-** resonated through the building. Only inches away from the lieutenant’s face, the bullet had collided with the knife, the ricochet sending them both flying off into the darkness beyond.  
  
He had no time for relief, though. He pushed himself to his limit, legs carrying him as fast as they could. Jonahson still had the gun and Hank still _did not_ . And now _he_ was also out of weapons. There was only one viable scenario if the pissant decided to take another shot. _  
_ _  
_ The walking scum bared his teeth as the android skidded to a halt in front of Hank, arms outstretched to block another bullet.  
  
Jonahson was _livid_ . If he were ever a man of eloquence, well, that had all gone out the window now. “You little plastic bitch! I’M GONNA FUCKIN’ KILL YOU!!!”  
  
The first impact jolted him back, almost making him crash into Hank. The older man steadied him as best he could, though he wasn’t much better on his feet.  
  
**_BIOCOMPONENT #1635m DAMAGED!! THIRIUM LEAK DETECTED!! SEEK EMERGENCY REPAIR IMMEDIATELY!!_ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** The second impact knocked the two of them prone and sent his HUD into a cascade of flashing red warnings.

 **_BIOCOMPONENT #7551p DAMAGED!! THIRIUM LEAK DETECTED!! SEEK EMERGENCY REPAIR IMMEDIATELY!!_ **  
  
So this was it. He’d failed. Again. ( _Like always. You should have expected this. Did you think you could do good? Be a hero? Did you seriously believe you could ever be anything other than a disappointment?)_ _  
_ _  
_ “Six! Sixty, get up! Oh fuck, kid, you’re really trying to f-f-fuck with me here, you little shit!” Oh, good, Hank was still alive.  
  
He minimized the warning windows on his HUD, staring up into worried blue eyes. They had fallen back behind the assembly belt with that last shot. Or, at least close enough that Hank was able to drag him into cover. He heard Jonahson cursing at them from the other side, though he was not yet approaching. Small mercies.  
  
Oh, but maybe he oughta say something, Hank’s stress level was _way_ too high. “Fancy seeing you here, Henry.” Haha, it was always worth it to see Hank’s face turn that shade of red. He hated that name with a passion.  
  
“Oh, fuck y-you, you absolute b-brat!” The older man had been leaning up against the metal belt, the android sprawled across his lap. But at those words, Hank leaned down, hefting his bullet-riddled body up into his arms. Oh, a hug. He… wasn’t really sure what to do here. And now there was wetness seeping into the neck of his favorite shirt and- Oh, yes, crying. Humans did that.  
  
Though this was neither the time nor the place, he did his best, letting out an awkward, “There...there?” as he patted the man’s shoulder.  
  
Hank huffed out a shaky laugh, muttering a quiet, “Fuckin’ androids,” under his breath before looking him square in the eye. “Son, you take c-c-care of that motherfucker and get us the hell outta here. Alright? We’ll all go on back h-home.” And then, from within the folds of the slightly too small jacket he was wearing, Hank produced a slim blade.It was one of the ones he kept sewn into the hems of all his clothing. (What can he say? He likes knives.)  
  
He was momentarily nonplussed and was sure his eyes had gone comically wide. “How did you find that?”  
  
Hank scoffed. “I do your fuckin’ laundry, asshole. And it w-was j-j-jabbing me in the side.”  
  
And what do you know, this might actually be what a genuine smile feels like. He took the small blade and nodded. “Guess I’m off to do you proud, then, Pops,” he said, settling into a crouch.  
  
As he made his way out from behind the belt, he couldn’t help but hear the, “Did that a long time ago, idiot,” slung after him. And, despite the steady leak of Thirium and the numerous repairs still being done on his system, he couldn’t help but feel a curious warmth.  
  
He could get used to this… Well, after he takes care of one last motherfucker, that is. And speaking of… Oh, well, this was awkward.  
  
[ **Scanning… Scanning… Scanning… Area Clear!** ]  
  
_What_ ?  
  
Ooh, that pisspot! Little bitch talked all big and then did a runner! He’d show him! He let his reconstruction software reassemble the scene before taking off in the direction Jonahson had fled. Out back, towards the loading bay doors. Sneaky little bastard. Ooh, yeah, there he was.  
  
“Hold the _fuck_ up, shitstain!” he yelled. Jonahson, who had been in the process of trying to unlock the service entrance, squawked (pretty funnily, actually) and raised his weapon. Oh yeah, not happening. Before he could even bring the gun up properly, the small blade was already slicing through the air. And, subsequently, right into Jonahson’s hand.  
  
_Haha, yeah, try holding that gun now, you little bitch._ He sauntered up, his Casual Swagger Protocol initiated. “Well, _boy-howdy-hee_ , this seems like a little bit of a sit’ation you’ve got yerself into, now, don’t it, partner?”  
_  
_ _Hm, maybe he’d been watching too many Westerns lately… Nah, no such thing._ _  
_ _  
_ Jonahson seemed not to be enjoying this quite as much. “You-! You fake little plastic _bitch!!_ How _dare_ you raise a hand against living humans like this! These men had _families_ , children-!”  
  
He nonchalantly leaned in, placing his hand directly over the man’s nonsense-spewing mouth. “Haha, alright, I’m just gonna stop you right there, little man.” He casually studied the synthetic nails of his unoccupied hand as he spoke. “See, I think deep down in your _heart o’ hearts_ , you were hoping that maybe an android like me actually _could_ feel, that maybe you could appeal to my sense of... _empathy_ .” He smiled. It was not kind. “Well, hate to break it to ya, bub, but there’s not a lot of that to play with here. See, you all went after _my_ family, ya dig? You shot my big brother-” he added the slightest bit more pressure to the hand over his mouth, “-you kidnapped my old man-” and a little bit harder, “-and you made my little bro _cry_ .” Jonahson was audibly whimpering now, hands scratching against his immovable grip. “So really, haha, you’re kinda barking up the wrong tree. Maybe Connor would’ve spared you. Or Nines. Maybe even _Hank_ . But see-” he leaned in close, letting his face fill the entirety of the other man’s vision, “- _my_ name is Sixty Anderson. And _I’m_ the mean one.”  
  
[ **MISSION ACCOMPLISHED** ]  
  
_________________________  
  
  
Well, this isn’t really what he thought he’d be doing after finally being released from the hospital.  
  
_“That’s right. I’ve killed women and children. Killed just about everything that walks or crawled at one time or another. And I’m here to kill you, Little Bill, for what you did to Ned.”_ _  
_ _  
_ Hank swore he’d seen this movie at least twenty times since Sixty came to live with them. (Sixty would argue that, “ _No_ , it’s only been _seven_ and this movie is a _classic_ !”) The kid definitely knew every word by heart, coulda probably downloaded that shit straight off an old-time movie website and right into his brain if he wanted. And yet, every time he put it on, his eyes never left the screen. Look at him, mouthing along with the words.  
  
_“_ _I was lucky in the order, but I've always been lucky when it comes to killin folks.”_ _  
_ _  
_ Well, it was apt, if nothing else. Especially after that shitshow that went down last week. That whole debacle was probably up there in Hank’s Top 10 Shittiest Moments, though sadly, it was still on the lower end of the spectrum. Guess that’s to be expected when things actually turn out alright in the end...  
  
______________________________  
  
  
Mere minutes after Six had run off to take care of Jonahson, the door behind Hank burst open and in rushed Nines, followed by what seemed like half the damn DPD. He could tell his youngest was trying his best to stay stoic and composed, but the minute he laid eyes on Hank he rushed in, ignoring any sort of protocol. He’d just scooped Hank right up off the floor (Gently! He’d probably already scanned him.) like he weighed nothing and booked it back outside to where a waiting ambulance was parked. (And no one could ever know this, but he was honestly grateful. He wasn’t sure he woulda been able to walk that far.) After being wrapped up like a goddamn burrito by the paramedics, (and learning that Connor actually _was_ alright, thank fuck) Hank’s secondary job became reassuring Nines that yes, he was fine, he was okay, Six was also okay, no wait, actually he probably needed a technician and-- Well, there he goes.

It was only a few minutes later that the two of them came out, Sixty literally dragging a struggling Michael Jonahson behind him. Nines still looked incredibly worried, but Sixty seemed to be in _suspiciously_ good spirits from the way he was carrying on. “--and you shoulda seen him squirm, baby bro, I got to use my _scary_ face on him! I thought he was gonna _shit_ himself! Actually, he might’ve, my olfactory sensors haven’t been repaired yet so I can’t tell. Did he _actually_ shit himself?”  
  
They’d drawn close enough to him now that he didn’t need to shout to say, “What ya got there, son?”  
  
Sixty, still bullet-riddled, covered in blood and with that fuckin panel in his forehead still jutting up over his white frame, grinned. “Got you an early Father’s Day gift, old man. Thought you might like to keep this here lead for your case. I’m sure he’ll be very _cooperative_ .” Jonahson gave a rather loud whimper and began to shiver. Hank just shook his head.  
  
“Well, thanks kid. Now give the crook to your brother and go get fixed up. I don’t want you bleeding all over the goddamn city.”  
  
Sixty gave a mock salute, complete with a little “Yessir!” before flipping him off and heading on over to the technician’s van parked across from them. Nines, now dragging their “cooperative” prisoner along with him, watched him go with a shake of his head. They could hear him shouting, “Fuck! I’ve got blood in my head! Dammit, I just dusted!”  
  
“Hank.” Nines turned back to address him. “I will take care of this, don’t worry. Detective Reed and I will be able to handle everything until you and Connor are well. And I’ll… try to keep an eye on him-” he gestured vaguely in Sixty’s direction, “-as well. Please, focus on getting better and let me take over.”  
  
Oh Nines. He really was a little sweetheart. Honestly, he’d trust no one else to handle this case in his and Connor’s absence. “Thank you, Nines. I know it’s all in good hands with you around.”  
  
He gave a shy little smile that softened up his severe features and nodded. As he was turning around, he paused, casting his gaze back to Hank. “There’s one more thing, actually…” he said, giving the perp he still had a hold of a side-eyed glance. “If you would let Sixty know… that he did, indeed, ‘shit his pants,’ as it were.”  
  
The loud guffaws echoing from the technician’s van let the both of them know that passing on the message was very much unnecessary.  
  
__________________________  
  
  
By now, the movie credits were rolling, a bittersweet instrumental piece accompanying them. Hank glanced over to find Six already watching him. “The weapon that was used to disable Connor and me was created using one of our previous bodies,”  he said, apropos of nothing. “That gang of reprobates had acquired an RK800 model number -50 from _somewhere_ and managed to use our own system safeguards against us to get past our firewalls.”  
  
Hank gave him a deadpan stare. “What the fuck, Sixty?”  
  
He merely raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that why you’re sitting here with me, watching this movie that you hate?” he asked.  
  
Hank gave a long sigh and massaged his temples. _Fuckin androids_ . “No, Six, I already knew about all that shit. It was in that _extensive_ -” and he meant _e x t e n s i v e_ , “-report that Nines compiled. I’m already read up on the specifics. And I don’t hate this movie, I’d just rather not watch it every other day.”  
  
Sixty frowned. “Oh.” He was doing that weird thing with his eyes again. Probably scanning him, fuck. “Then I am at a loss.” And he sat there, brow furrowed like he was trying to solve the hardest math problem in the world. ( _That was a stupid analogy, Hank, that shit’d be easy for Mr. Computer-Brain over here._ ) Anyway, he looked disgruntled.  
  
“Kid, I’m just trying to see how you’re doing. Y’know, since you didn’t come and visit me in the hospital, and all.”  
  
Sixty’s head snapped up so fast, Hank was worried he’d snapped his neck. “Hank, that’s not fair! Nines wouldn’t allow me to enter the building!”  
  
Hank chuckled. “Well, good for him. Probably saved us all a lot of property damage and therapy bills.”  
  
Six snorted. “You mean more than you already accrued during your _own_ stay?”  
  
Hank gave a full belly-laugh, arm going around Sixty’s neck and he brought him in for a noogie. (Much to his protests and offended squawking.) “You’re such a little shit, Six,” he chuckled. “Never change, never change.”  
  
Hank knew the kid could extricate himself from this hold like it was nothing. But he stayed. He always stayed. Here, in this house, with his brothers and his dog and Hank, too.  
  
Hank released him but left a hand on his shoulder. Sixty fussed and scowled and patted at his hair but he eventually looked up. “Thanks, son,” Hank said, meeting his eyes. “For everything.”  
  
And Sixty was so much like him, still trying to hang on to that scowl. But even _he_ had his genuine moments sometimes, too. His gaze softened. Not a lot, but enough for the few who knew him to tell. “Anytime, Pops.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [cue Nines crying as he records them from the kitchen and sends the video to Connor]
> 
> The movie they're watching is the 1992 classic, _Unforgiven_ , starring Clint Eastwood. It's Sixty's favorite movie and I'll fight you on that. 
> 
> I'm gonna go ahead and give credit to [ karasgotagun ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzmckay/pseuds/karasgotagun) for the idea that Sixty is the knife boi of the trio. (If you haven't read _The World Upside Down_ , drop this now and do yourself a favor.) #LetSixtyStab2k39
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Peace! 
> 
> ~Veil


End file.
